Pride Over Prejudice
by Diona Aronwen
Summary: Gracie Reynolds has never seen Scott Phillips as anything more than a rotten, spoiled bully. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would ever fall in love with him. *AU: C'mon...Phillips needs some lovin' too, yenno...
1. Prologue

**Pride Over Prejudice**  
By Reiko Anne Nguyen  
Publish Date: January 22, 2011

**Prologue: The Other Sister**

I'm not perfect. I'm not smart. I'm not talented.

...I'm not Janie.

And yet he keeps talking to me as if I were her. Looking at me as if I were her. Commenting on how much I look like her.

...But I'm _not_ her!

I had always been proud, not necessarily because I was different from my straight-laced sister, but because I was more than satisfied with our differences. I love my sister. I love the little things that make us contrast, and I never once wished I could be more like her...

...until now.

Scott Phillips was the last boy I ever needed approval from. He was, without a doubt, the most horrible snot-faced-kid I could ever come across. I suppose growing up spoiled and privileged was to blame, but I wasn't going to sympathize with him. Nu-uh. The guy deserved every rotten look I threw his way—especially with the way he treated my sister while they were growing up. I remember the first time they met. I was only four at the time, but the memory of my sister crying on the front lawn was something I could never forget. He always made her cry, which brings me to the irony of their story. He loved her. Maybe not to the extent Benny loved her, but definitely enough to let down his guard.

I really ought to be rejoicing the fact that Scott Phillips, my sister's school bully, was finally paying for his evil deeds. I felt like I should have been smug, but that wasn't the case where my heart was concerned. For the first time in my life, I was jealous of my sister. I envied the fact that she was the one who changed him—the one who got him to grow up. He was the diamond in the rough, and she was the one who polished him to shine. I wish it had been me.

How I came to fall in love with Scott Phillips is a long story—and one I'm still trying to figure out.

**

* * *

Disclaimer: **"The Sandlot" was written and directed by David M. Evans. I do not own anything related to the movie other than this fan written fiction and the original characters I have created through my own imagination. I assure you that this piece of work does not make any profits, nor will it be published in the future. Copyright infringement is not intended.


	2. 1: Gracie the Elizabeth

**Pride Over Prejudice**  
By Reiko Anne Nguyen  
Publish Date: January 26, 2011

**Chapter 1: Gracie the Elizabeth**

_August 22, 1962  
Wednesday_

It was seven-thirty in the evening when I finally decided to call it a day and left my job at The Cluckers. Honestly, I was a kind of worried about walking around so late, considering how Melvin always took the time to walk me home at night. But darn that guy, he had to aspirate a gum ball this morning and was sent to the emergency room for treatment. _Poor guy always has the worst of luck._

By seven-forty, I had reached Main Street and already began jogging. Then I wondered for the umpteenth time that summer why I hadn't picked a job closer to home.

_Because no one is willing to hire women, remember?_

Three summers ago, I had spent most of my days hibernating. What else could I do but sleep, eat, and spy on my sisters?

Diane, at the time, was prepping for her junior year of high school, and if anything good came out of that, it was that she kept to herself. I didn't like her much—not when she constantly bagged me for touching her makeup and trying on her dresses. I mean, seriously. She used to be such a blast! Then she got hot, boys started coming around the house, and the rest is history.

Janie, on the other hand, was too busy being tortured by Grandma. Every morning, Grandma Diana would come over and make Janie play the violin. And the piano in the afternoon. And ballet in the evening. Janie was what Grandma Diana liked to call, "The daughter I never had." _Pft_, I wasn't complaining. Grandma scared the bejeezus out of me! She always rambled on and on about how Diane was becoming too wild, how Janie needed to be chaperoned whenever she was with Benny, and how I never did anything productive.

She was right.

One day, three summers ago, Grand Diane found me randomly lying on the front lawn. I was in the middle of wondering why feet were so ugly when she scolded me for dirtying my dress, and then she asked me why I did it.

"Because I'm bored," I replied bluntly.

She then shook her head and ordered me to follow her into the house. Frankly, I half-expected her to drag me onto the ballet barre, and I mentally prepared myself to fight it. Ballet and classical music and pink—_ugh! _Too girly.

Luckily, Grandma Diana didn't force me into a tutu that day. She merely led me upstairs, sat me down in Janie's room, and pulled out a copy of "Pride and Prejudice" from the bookshelf.

"Read it," she ordered. "I want it finished by the end of this week."

"But that's in four days!"

"That's plenty of time."

"But it's too hard to read!"

"Jane read it when she was eleven. You can, too."

So, in an attempt to boost up some Granny points, I read the book, and I hated it. The book put me to sleep more times than I had slept all that summer _combined_. I knew Grandma Diana would ask me what I thought, so I skimmed through the book and formulated a response.

"It was awesome, Grandma," I lied with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy totally belonged together."

Grand Diana looked at me with an unreadable expression as I kept nodding my head. She wasn't buying it.

"Is that so," she eloquent slurred. "Do you feel you must relate to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

_Relate? _I was ten years old trying to read an 18th century novel, and she wanted me to _relate?_

"Um, sure," I slowly replied. "I feel like Elizabeth sometimes because...well…because we both have older sisters named Jane! Yeah! And they're both goody-goody two-shoes, so I'm pretty sure Elizabeth felt just as dumb as I do sometimes."

_Oh boy._ I was so sure Grandma Diana was gonna sock me in the head for that one. She gave me this squinty-eyed look before she started turning real red, and before I could even ask her if she was having a heart attack, she busted out laughing. _Laughing!_ I couldn't tell if she was just so tired of yelling at me that laughing seemed like the next best thing, or if I had finally driven her crazy with my incompetency. Thank God it was neither.

"Oh, Gracie, sweetheart. You are just like me when I was your age." I cringed at the thought. _There's no way I'm gonna end up as grouchy as her_.

But that was the last time I ever saw her in that light, cause after Grandma Diana stopped laughing, she pulled out an old photo, and told me about herself.

"I was the niece of a Marchioness in Haverston," she said through glossed eyes. "My mother sent me on a ship to America after I had created a scandal in Wales."

_Whoa._ Grandma Diana? Creating _scandal_? At the time, I wasn't sure what exactly that meant. All I knew was that Grandma had run away with a poor merchant sailor, whom she got separated from. It was, as Grandma called, "quite compromising," and nobody in England wanted a piece of her anymore. I didn't see why not. She was surprisingly beautiful during her time, but I guess if you choose a street rat over hoards of money, you're bound to be uncool in 19th century England.

Now, a few years after that incident, Grandma boarded a ship to America, and guess who she saw on deck? That's right; Fifth Officer _What's-His-Face_. Grandma loved him so much, and he loved her, too. But then the ship crashed, then it sank, and then she lost him again, and then she found him again, and then—ugh. Long story short, Grandma Diana and her first love never got married. Why? Because he was too poor, and Grandma couldn't live the seafaring lifestyle he wanted.

I honestly thought this was gonna be an epic tale about how Grandma met Grandpa, but their story was not nearly as alluring.

She then continued tell me about "Pride and Prejudice," saying how the two of us were somewhat like Elizabeth.

"We might be inferior to others, but what cannot hurt us can only strengthen us."

I suppose my point has been lost in all of this.

In the summer of 1960, when I was only eleven years old, I tried to find a job. My next door neighbor, Benny, had been working at his mother's photography shop for years, and so I thought, _Why not? It's the summer, and I'm bored._

It didn't take me long to discover how hard it would be to find a job, and it wasn't because of my age. By the time I was twelve, and legally allowed to work, I found myself being declined jobs that were later given to _boys_ my age. I may have been a little unsure about my theory, but after re-applying as a bagger for Martin's Grocery Store, I suddenly realized my role as a girl was definitely not going to make me some dough. "Little girl, go home," the manager said when I begged to be hired. "Your place is in the kitchen."

I went home that night ranting to my sister, Janie, about the unfairness of life and how being a girl sucked. She took offense, naturally, and told me to be proud of being a girl.

"Easy for you to say," I remember telling her. "Grandma already prepped you to be a housewife. You're the perfect daughter."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're Jane, and I'm Elizabeth!"

She threw me a look of confusion. "No, I'm Jane, you're _Gracelyn_."

"No! Elizabeth! I'm Elizabeth Bennet! I don't like being inferior!"

My sister shook her head in mixed disappointment and amusement. "Gracie, you big pessimist. Being a girl is great. We just need to work harder for the things we want, and Lord knows hard work is good work. Besides, if Elizabeth Bennet were here right now, she'd tell you to get off your tush and demand for equal opportunities!"

I'm sure she just made all that up to make me happy, but it was enough to get me back on the streets and find a job.

Now, at thirteen and with only a year of work under my belt, I am a _not-so-proud_ employee of The Cluckers—a diner specifically obligated to make my life a living hell. Every weekends and every day during the summers, I would get up in the morning, ride my bike to The Cluckers, and take verbal hits from bratty teenage boys who make it their mission to show me I'm not man enough. _Please. There is absolutely nothing manly about taking orders in chicken suits._

On the other hand, I should count myself lucky for even getting this job. Mr. Fern, the manager of the diner, was pretty hesitant about hiring a pre-teen girl; but he was desperate, and I was hopeless enough to work below minimum wage.

Now here I am, rushing home after a seven-hour shift at The Cluckers. The sun's twilight had completely diminished below the horizon, and I found myself walking towards the dark.

"Mama and Papa are gonna flip if they find out I'm not with Melvin," I thought as I slowed to a walking pace. Looking back on it now, it probably would have been smart to call for a ride, but I was determined to stop by O'Malley's Sports Store and ogle at the new Wright and Ditson tennis racquet. It was absolutely striking, and absolutely expensive. Leather grip, Y-shaped throat, aluminum frame—it had a huge advantage over my school's old termite-infested racquets.

Halting in my steps, I reached into the front pocket of my dress and pulled out the salary I had earned today. Three dollars and fifty cents. No tip. It wasn't as much as what Melvin and the other boys were probably making, but it sufficed, and I now had enough money to launch my career as a writer and a journalist.

Elatedly, I pocketed the money and squealed in delight, walking forward again in hopes of entering Sherry May's Art store in the morning. Heck, I was so keyed up, I even started singing along to _Happy Clucky Birthday_! Nothing was about to break my mood today. Nothing. I was absolutely sure of it!

And then…

...I heard footsteps in the night.

**

* * *

Disclaimer: **"The Sandlot" was written and directed by David M. Evans. I do not own anything related to the movie other than this fan written fiction and the original characters I have created through my own imagination. I assure you that this piece of work does not make any profits, nor will it be published in the future. Copyright infringement is not intended.


	3. 2: Phillips the Hobo

**Pride Over Prejudice**  
By Reiko Anne Nguyen  
Publish Date: February 13, 2011

**Chapter 2: Phillips the Hobo**

_August 22, 1962  
Wednesday_

To be completely honest, I did it all out of impulse. Running away from home, I far as anyone was concerned, I had left home to starve and die—which is exactly what I'd told my dad before storming out of his office on Monday night.

"I think it's best if you stay in San Fernando," he had said after hanging up with one of his_ foreign investments_. "I know all your friends are entering Cathedral Preparatory—"

"And you said I was going too."

"—but you've neglected too much of your studies for baseball. The school won't let you enter unless you meet their requirements, son."

I threw my hands up in disbelief before kicking the ottoman stool—you know, for extra effect. "Well then pay them! Isn't that how you got Annette into Immaculate Heart?"

My dad paused to rub the temples of his head. "I did _not_ pay Immaculate Heart to process your step-sister's resume. I was simply donating funds to the school."

"Same thing!"

Seriously! I'm his son! Shouldn't I have some priority over my step-sister? Doesn't he understand the humiliation of returning to middle-class community? I hope he realizes these facts soon, cause there is no way in hell I'm going to public school with a bunch of mutts. I need to be with my own people, and if running away to live a life of ruins can get my dad to see that, then so be it.

I just wish it were easier to do than to say.

Two days had passed since I left Dinah Hills, and already I could feel myself slipping away. Every minute of every hour seemed to be reminding me that I was hungry, and that I was cold, and that I was tired. I'd been so weak, and although I hate the feeling of weakness, knowing that this was all being done by choice made me feel powerful. And stupid. But mainly powerful, and that's all that really mattered anyway.

_Dad will come around_, I tried to remind myself for the millionth time that day. I needed to keep myself from running home like a baby and begging for forgiveness. I needed to remind myself that this was just temporary, and that my efforts wouldn't go to waste.

_Seriously. I went through hell within the last two days. My efforts better be worth something._

Earlier this morning, I had enough cash to last me a month. At the moment, I had _nothing_, and it was all because of that damned street gang who beat me six to one. I broke my hand trying to land a fist on one of them, but my knuckles ended up meeting concrete, and by the time they were done with me, I had a bloody nose, multiple bruises, and no cash to spare.

Some Christian helped me up an hour later and stuffed a five in my pocket, and by noon, I had been robbed again by a bunch of old hobos. Didn't they see that I was one of them? _Idiots._

So now, I was hungry, I was cold, I was probably bleeding internally, and I was drinking beer from a half-finished bottle someone left at the bistro.

_But that's okay, because tomorrow's a new day! _I laughed at the stupidity of it all. If I wanted to survive another day, I had to take extreme measures. I _needed_ to do something drastic.

With that in mind and a new objective in place, I slowly pulled myself up and wobbled out of the alley, intent on finding a store on Main Street to rob. _Apparently today, that's what hobos do._ I scanned the empty street and tried looking for a shop to strip, considering Porter's Bakery for a minute…

…and then _she_ came along.

I hid in the shadows of the alley as I watched Gracie Reynolds walk under a lamplight. She then stopped to look at something on display, before stuffing her hands in her pocket to pull out money. _Bingo_.

Holding my now empty beer bottle, I smashed the base and gripped it like a knife. Was I crazy for being so self-assured? Definitely. I was desperate. Real desperate. And desperate people do crazy things when they're close to piss drunk.

_Just walk straight, Scott_, I told myself as dizziness suddenly took over. I was so weak, but even so, I knew I could take on a puny stick like Gracie Reynolds.

She pocketed her money again and began walking away from the lamplight, disappearing into the darkness. I made sure to follow her silently, working my body extra hard to get rid of that limp.

_Poor Gracie. Poor, unsuspecting Gracie. Bwahaha!_

Gracie walked past another lamplight before disappearing into the darkness again. With a burst of energy, I forced myself to run towards her, and before I could even register the magnitude of danger I was putting us in, I had already wrapped an arm around her and was pressing her body against mine.

"Don't move!" I yelled before pressing the shards of my bottle against her cheek.

_Hoooly shit. I'm actually mugging someone. _

"Give me all your cash or I swear to God I'll slice and dice you for brunch." I must've been close to wasted, cause there was no way in hell I would've said that sober.

Obediently, Gracie slipped her hand into her pocket. She did it slowly, breathing hard and fast as I deepened the pressure on her cheek.

"Please, don't hurt me," she whimpered. But her voice echoed past my ears. I found myself slumping over her shoulder as weakness began settling in again. I felt woozy, and all I could seem to focus on was bile that threatened to erupt from my throat.

Suddenly, the bottle fell from my limp hands shattered onto the ground, startling me back to attention. By then, however, it was too late. Gracie had snapped my pinky finger during my state of unawareness before elbowing me in the gut!

"Ah, damn it!" I cried in pain as I crumbled onto the ground and watched as Gracie ran away screaming. It was all I could do to just lie there in the dark and wait to pass out. And hope—hope that I'd wake up back home in the comfort of my own bedroom.

...Preferably with my father apologizing_. What? Too much to ask for?_

_

* * *

Gracie's POV:_

_Oh my God!_ I thought over and over as I ran down Main Street crying. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would ever be put in that kind of situation. I dared to turn and look at my attacker, expecting him to be on my tail. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You'd think that after watching so many scary movies, I'd know not to stop running. It shouldn't matter if you think you've outran them. They _always_ pop out when you let your guard down.

But I did. I stopped sprinting and turned to look for the boy who tried to _CUT MY THROAT!_ _Stupid._

At first, I saw nothing but the spots of lamplights trailing down the sidewalk. It was eerily desolate tonight, and I felt fearful again as a groan echoed from down the street.

Reason advised me to keep running. Logic pointed out that Chief McClennan's deputy officers were stationed merely two blocks away. But my curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself slinking towards the pitiful whimpers of my assailant.

I knew it was stupid of me to be so secure. I should have been vulnerable. But at the sight of this poor mugger boy, I suddenly felt…fearless. Maybe even sympathetic, and maybe a little vexed.

I watched as he lied on his side, nursing his broken finger, and I knew right away that he was crying, despite the cap that masked his eyes. Breathing seemed like a struggle for this poor soul, who barely moved as I laid a hand on his shoulder.

Yes, I got near enough to touch him. And if that wasn't enough, I reached for his hand…and held it.

Feeling angry with myself for what I was about to do, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the money I had worked so hard to earn. _At least I have a job._ Then, with slight reluctance, I placed it in the boy's hand before standing up and walking away.

"Get a job," I scolded out loud before running to the safety of my home.

_I better go to heaven for this_.

**

* * *

Disclaimer: **"The Sandlot" was written and directed by David M. Evans. I do not own anything related to the movie other than this fan written fiction and the original characters I have created through my own imagination. I assure you that this piece of work does not make any profits, nor will it be published in the future. Copyright infringement is not intended.


	4. 3: Hormonal Teenagers

**PRIDE OVER PREJUDICE**  
By Delilah Anne Marie  
February 28, 2010

**Chapter 3: Hormonal Teenagers**

_November 11, 1963  
Monday_

It had been a little more than a year since I was last attacked on Main Street—or rather, I attacked my attacker—and life still went on. Mind you, I was temporarily traumatized after the assault and constantly called in sick from work. I often thought about the boy who had tried to mug me, and I sometimes wondered what became of him. Then I realized something: the world didn't stop for one person.

That motto was enough for me to get my life back on track, and before I knew it, I was a freshman in high school and a member of the junior varsity tennis team. Of course, life would've been a lot better if my grades had been higher. There were just some hurdles I couldn't surmount.

"You overslept again?" Janie mused as I hurriedly entered the kitchen one morning. "Honestly, Gracie. Aren't you the one who's always saying _the world doesn't stop for one person_?"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Janie," I murmured as I sat down next to her. "I couldn't find any underwear in my drawer."

My sister began to laugh. "Serves you right for not doing laundry all month. What are you wearing now?"

"Er, nothing," I mumbled before filling my plate with bacon. "I have clean panties in my gym locker. Guess I'll just have to grab them before lunch."

"Did it ever occur to you that _I _might have some clean underwear in my bedroom?"

I winced in disgust. "Clean or not, I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole. Lord knows what kind of body fluid Benny's been rubbing on them."

Janie sprang over the table and clasped a hand over my mouth. "We are _not_ having sex. We're—_ew_, did you just lick my hand?"

"Whatever unblocks the portal between my stomach and food," I said as I took a bite of my bacon. "And hey, I didn't say you guys were doing the dirty. Only that you guys _are_ dirty. Seriously. Do you have any idea what mama would do if she found out what kind of hanky panky you've been doing under her roof? Or under Benny? Whichever you prefer."

Janie grabbed a bun and stuffed it into my mouth. "Be quiet!" She hissed. "Can't you be a little more discreet?"

I shook my head in defeat and sighed. "Fine, I won't mention it again…_if_ you lend me a ribbon to match this dress."

"A ribbon to match your dress? Since when did you start accessorizing like a girl?"

"Are you stupid? I AM a girl!"

Janie shook her head and took a bite of her toast. "This coming from a teenager whose only doll as a child was a G.I. Joe," she muttered.

I chose to ignore her comment and continued to eat breakfast. Five minutes later, our neighbor, Benny Rodriguez, entered the house through the backdoor and planted a sweet kiss on my sister's forehead.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered in her ear as he pressed his nose to her hair.

"Ugh, too much cuteness in a room," I muttered as I stuffed a hard-boiled egg in my mouth walked away. "You guys make me sick."

Yes, they were nauseatingly charming. You'd think that, after being best friends for ten years, they'd be extremely familiar with one another. But no, there were other _areas _of their friendship that needed to be acquainted with, if you know what I mean.

Then again, I had to give my sister some credit where it was warranted. She was typically the most obedient child in the family, and so I'm sure you can understand the colossal significance of catching her in a hot and heavy make out session with the boy next door.

By 7:45, I was out the door and sprinting towards school. Mrs. Hartley, our school's vice principal, watched as I slowed down in front of the library and wiped the perspiration from my brows. She shot me a stern look that clearly told me she didn't approve of my sweating, as it was "offensively unladylike." I might have agreed with her, if it weren't for the fact that I was one tardy slip closer to detention.

Biology was the first period of the day…and the worst of the year. Dr. Dameron was, in all honesty, the most merciless teacher you could ever encounter. Ironic how he educates about the cycle of life only to make you wish for death.

After biology, in which I was stumped by a pop quiz, I rushed out the classroom and entered second period algebra. Math had always been my favorite subject, but it wasn't because I was good at it. Frankly, I was mediocre when it came to fractions and polynomials, but I was good enough to place in sophomore level math. That was enough to make me feel smart.

No one had made it to class yet, and so I took my seat in the front row and attempted to sketch Melvin's kitten by memory. I lifted the picture in front of me after applying my final touches, and then I scrunched my nose in disgust.

_What a disaster_, I thought as I ripped the page from my sketch book. I crumpled it with irritation, making a tight ball with my palms, before throwing it across the room where it was headed towards the trash bin.

Unfortunately, although my aim was flawless, the crumbled ball of paper did not fall into its target. Rather, it hit an unexpected passerby in the head, and I couldn't help but snigger as Scott Phillips turned around with an annoyed expression.

Scott Phillips. God, I hated that guy. He was, without a doubt, the most horrible snot-faced-kid I could ever come across. I suppose growing up spoiled and privileged was to blame, but I wasn't going to sympathize with him. Nu-uh. The guy deserved every rotten look I threw his way—especially with the way he treated my sister while they were growing up. I remember the first time they met. I was only four at the time, but the memory of my sister crying on the front lawn was something I could never forget. He always made her cry, which brings me to the irony of their story. He loved her. Maybe not to the extent Benny loved her, but definitely enough to let down his guard. Needless to say, I was feeling triumphant at his loss.

"Geez, Reynolds," Phillips said as he replaced his annoyance with coolness. "Why is it that we can't be in the same room without you throwing something at me?"

"Well maybe if you weren't so big-headed, then you wouldn't be such a big target."

He laughed at my comment, but I knew he was downplaying my insults.

"You know," he began. "For a Reynolds sister, you sure have a hard time telling the difference between a trashcan and a human being. Aren't you and your lot supposed to be geniuses? Or maybe you're the odd child? The broken one."

I clenched my teeth, trying to calm myself down. He always knew how to press the right buttons, but only because I did a poor job of hiding my anger. I walked up to him and tried to match his stare.

"As if there's any difference between you and trash." I retorted spitefully.

For a moment, I noticed his cool face he scoffed and picked up the crumbled paper that had fallen next to his foot.

"Open that and you die, Phillips," I warned him. But alas, Scott Phillips wasn't the type to be told what to do, and he opened the ball anyway.

"What's this, Reynolds," Phillips taunted as he held the sketch above my reach. "Your self-portrait?"

Blushing at his comment, I made a bigger effort to obtain my drawing by jumping higher. Phillips continued to goad me, fishing the sketch lower before snapping it out of reach. I felt silly for hopping around him. I should've known that my five-foot three-inch height wouldn't be able to dominate his taller frame. But I was too proud to let it go, and I soon found myself knocking onto Phillips' chest. The impact caught him off guard, and before I could even register what had occurred, I was lying sprawled on the floor with Phillips in-between my thighs.

"Ew ew ew!" I cried as he began wriggling underneath me.

"You got that right," he murmured before spitting my hair away from his face.

In my embarrassment, I rolled off of him and kicked his left shin. He howled in pain, and I suddenly felt panicked as a group of students stopped at the doorway to stare.

"Shut up, Phillips," I tried to hush him. He simply shot a look of agitation, ready to shout at me for my unnecessary assault.

…But something caught his attention, and his eyes suddenly widened in mixed shock and hilarity.

I followed his stare towards my dress, realizing that the hem of my skirt had trekked dangerously high above my open thighs. Then, it dawned on me…

"…Hot damn, Reynolds! Where's your underwear?"

The crowd behind me burst into gasps and laughter. I knew Phillips was gonna do something to embarrass me even further. For certain, he was going to throw lewd comments my way. But I didn't give him that opportunity, because after he had keeled over from too much laughter, and after I had turned a ghastly shade of scarlet red, my fingers automatically found their way around Phillips' neck…ready to wring the pathetic life out of him.

**

* * *

Disclaimer: **"The Sandlot" was written and directed by David M. Evans. I do not own anything related to the movie other than this fan written fiction and the original characters I have created through my own imagination. I assure you that this piece of work does not make any profits, nor will it be published in the future. Copyright infringement is not intended.


End file.
